Breasts
I imagine capturing a candid shot of my
profile, head lowered, poised to lift the lid of the rice cooker. The image,
rotated ninety degrees clockwise, turns me into a colossal infant holding in my
hands a steaming aluminum breast. My gaze, dissolved into the milky whiteness
of vapor, becomes a canvas upon which the act of suckling traces back to the
themes of Greek pottery, the narrative of human evolution, and the countless
eyes that surface from the subconscious before Earth’s demise in a science
fiction. The milk spilling from my mouth blurs the boundaries between myth,
history, and science,
leaving new marks upon the motherly territory
in the hand.
